


A Particular Kaleidoscope

by Gidgit2u



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actually super proud of this story, Completely AU but used Character traits and history to spin this story realistically, Detective and Barrister AU, F/M, Rare Pair, alternative universe, give this pair a chance, it's not as gross as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gidgit2u/pseuds/Gidgit2u
Summary: Rare Pair challengeSometimes, all it takes to begin living again, is a chance.Bartemius Crouch Sr. is a high ranking barrister with the Crown Prosecution Service and Nymphadora Tonks is the Detective Chief Inspector – they meet on an important case and grow close.





	A Particular Kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [provocative_envy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocative_envy/gifts).



> A/N: This is a non magical - AU piece and was inspired and created for Provocative-Envy's birthday in 2015, originally posted on FF.net.
> 
> Disclaimer:
> 
> The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the property of J.K. Rowling and Scholastic. All canon characters, plots, quotes and situations are not owned by me and I make no profit from this story.

Bartemius Crouch Sr. was nothing if not particular. Particular in all aspects of his life and manner.

Particular in his choice of juice - strained, no pulp.

Particular in his choice of attire - bespoke suits from one specific tailor, that commanded respect and exuded meticulous presence.

Particular in who he deigned to invite to social events - who he deemed acceptable as an aesthetics-only partner to assist in his positional ascension at the office.

There'd been a time he hadn't been as particular, where he'd lived the white picket fence dream - a doting wife, a popular son; both of whom he'd lost. His son to the seduction of a charismatic megalomaniac; his wife to disease.

Their loss had  _broken_  him - the inability to protect those he'd loved - and he'd since glued himself back together by exercising control over every area in his life that he could so as to mitigate that acute sense of helplessness. His life faded to monochromatic neutrals - the color had been dulled and drained away as the years passed.

He threw himself into his career, ascending the ranks with exponential speed, and shutting himself off from everything past perfunctory human interactions and the occasional rutting with partners that were pre-selected with particular precision to ensure no possibility of emotional attachment or messy entanglements.

The life he now lived was about order.

Control.

Perceptions.

Rules.

All that changed that blustery dreary morning in October when  _she_  appeared and blew that all to hell.

Where he was tepid neutrals, she was violent contrasting hues.

Her kaleidoscope of visual noise assaulted his eyes and he found, though he desperately wanted to, he just couldn't look away as she came to his office.

It was like looking at the scene of an accident, simultaneously repellent yet morbidly captivating.

His first inclination was to recoil in disgust, to shake his head at the haphazard display she presented in front of him. She stood before him, dripping water onto his Berber carpet and shaking out her umbrella before snapping the cord tightly shut around it.

He had seen the rain pepper his office window, and though logically he knew avoiding it was next to impossible; proper manners and decorum would dictate she'd have removed her offendingly drenched garment and wrung it out in the lobby or at worst - reception - not desk side.

Her overcoat was a damask pattern of what he could only articulate as an appalling pairing of pea soup and eggplant. Her hair - well, he'd never seen anything quite like it before. The patch over and behind her left ear was shaved close to her scalp and hued a deep turquoise. The remaining length was an ombré shade of magenta to lavender, flipped to one side. Even her eyes didn't conform to convention - one was a deep russet, the other vivid blue - a striking display of heterochromia.

His assistant must have made a mistake - surly this...  _woman_... Standing in front of him wasn't the lead defective on the case he was prosecuting.

This - young - woman, whose presence disconcerted him on a level he found thoroughly atrocious and appalling.

His desk, with its precisely arranged items - laid out for efficiency and intimidation - and his effective use of space, provided a barrier between him and this captivatingly repelling facade of an adult.

'Wotcher Barrister." She said brightly, a gleam to her eye as though she had read his every thought and found them amusing. "Name's Tonks."

He felt a spasm of relief at her introduction. He'd known her presence was a mistake.

"Ah, right, I see then. I'm sorry but you'll have to excuse me, I have an appointment scheduled, with an inspector who  _seems_  to be running late, which is surprising given her credentials and reputation - one DCI Nymphadora. My apologies," he stated, far from apologetic. "but my assistant can point you to another chancellor who can assist you in whatever legal aid you require."

She sighed.

"I do  _so_  abhor that name... But, as it happens, I am her - Nymphadora Tonks - and I guarantee that I am  _not_  running late. In fact, I was here" she checked the clock on the side wall, "with an extra fiver to spare. I've heard you like your meetings... Punctual. There's also the matter of an abundant amount of material to slog through, so..." She let her sentence trail off, looking at him expectantly with a slight tilt to the corner of her lips.

Her bright fuchsia lips.

Her bright fuchsia lips that he suddenly found himself staring at like a sailor who hadn't seen shore in months.

A stone settled in his stomach at this realization; as her words condemned him for the next few weeks they would spend reviewing and preparing for the case. He didn't understand why she unsettled him, he - the stalwartly unflappable - the emotional recluse; but the fact remained that he was as uncomfortable in his skin as he'd ever remembered being. And that made him dread their meeting even more.

"You are DCI Nymphadora? It's written here in my appointment book as the last name - no mention of any Tonks."

"Happens often, I wouldn't be embarrassed about it." She said kindly, but her eyes flashed with suppressed humor. He would be having words with his assistant who'd penned the appointment. He  _didn't_  appreciate surprises.

"I'm  _not_  embarrassed." He said hotly. "Now that I'm aware you are who I'm to meet, I am simply confused as to how someone so... young, and... well -" he was furious with himself for stumbling over his words; he was never anything but elegantly verbose, and so became brusque in finishing his response.

"-Well, someone who quite frankly appears to be a haphazard mess; could be so accomplished in their career and highly respected."

She appeared unphased by his remarks, almost amused in fact.

"Perhaps  _Barty_  - can I call you Barty?" she drawled cheerfully, her eyes appraising his indignant flush at being addressed so casually. "It's due to me looking a tad haphazard, and, as you so tactfully stated, a mess, that makes me so good at my job. I'm not hung up on superfluous shite that would hinder my focus or ability in the field. It also helps me blend in to the population I am sworn to protect. And, I am quite adept at... transfiguring myself into whatever I need to be. When we get this case to court, I will look the part - right down the pressed trousers and polished brogues."

She looked exasperated at having to explain something she apparently considered common knowledge. "I am exceptionally detailed, have a keen eye and intuition, and have a meter for bullshite that could take your obnoxiously pretentious attitude out to lunch. I also trained under the best, and fully and rightfully earned his respect - I believe you've heard of him. His name's Alastair Moody?"

Bartemius frowned - he'd actually worked with Alastair on numerous cases and if she was in fact the golden protégé he'd heard the man sing praises about - well...

He resigned himself to not making their acquaintance more awkward or prolonged than it should be, and sat behind his desk to begin their case discussion.

As he motioned her to take a seat at the task chair across form him, positioned at what he deemed to be the perfect angle balancing aesthetics with function, she proceeded to defy his adherence to decorum further and moved towards his boxes of files instead. He saw her browse the labels while looking to be carrying out an internal dialogue, before selecting the box that contained all the preliminary findings and lifting it from the pile.

"I don't know about you,  _Barty_ ," she was doing this to needle him now, he was sure of it, "but this room's a tad small for our review purposes. There's not even a table adequate enough to properly lay out the documents we need to go over without bumping into something or each other. And I'm dead clumsy, so it's best we tackle these boxes one at a time... Otherwise, all your... thorough organization will be for naught." She winked. He was flabbergasted - the insufferable witch had winked at him!

And with that, she headed out his office door, box in hand. His assistant, a Mr. Finch-Fletchley, poked his head round the open door once she's left.

"Sir, she's heading to the main boardroom... Shall I offer her a beverage, or call security?" His assistant was diligent, professional and kept his schedule with meticulous precision, but had a touch of dramatic nature to him.

He also shared in Bartemius's believe that professionals should look professional - and his query about calling security demonstrated his blatant disapproval towards her non-professional appearance.

Curiously, his assistant's disapproval and condemnation sparked a protectiveness in him that he hadn't felt in years. It made him rankle that she would elicit it, or be the reason it was evoked.

He signed in resignation, already knowing this case was going to lead to  _very_  tedious weeks ahead.

"No, thank you Mr. Finch-Fletchley. It's alright, security won't be needed. I was just wrapping something up here before joining her. Beverages would be appreciated. If you could ask her her preference, that would be appropriate."

"Right away sir." With a sniff his assistant made his way down to the conference room.

**0-xxx-000-xxx-0**

Over the next couple weeks, his resistance to her flash and vivid personality receded. Every day she'd show up at his office and they would slog through box after box, file after file in preparation for trial.

He was amazed and intrigued, after he'd overcome his shock at her appearance, to witness her in action. She had a memory like none he'd ever encountered, and her approach to life and to the case was refreshing and honest. Her work ethic also helped propel his own - making them a formidable team. He was feeling extremely confident heading towards this trial. This trial that would propel him to an early promotion.

"Chinese or Thai tonight?" She asked, holding her mobile and scrolling through online menus. The quirk of her lips and the raise of her eyebrow suggested she assumed he'd respond with his typical - bangers and mash from the corner pub - nothing flashy or out of the ordinary.

"Let's go Greek tonight," he said casually, his tone belying the enormity of this choice. Greek cuisine had been his choice of fare, back when life had been... Well, back when he'd painted that damn fence white.

"Cheers to that, I know a great little place," and with that, she swept from the room to place the order, thankfully leaving him to his silent and sudden panic.

_"In...Out... In... Out..."_  He breathed, holding his head in his hands. He repeated this mantra, over and over to himself, until he felt pulled together.

Raising his head, he noticed her standing at the doorway, watching him with an expression he couldn't place. It wasn't pity, wasn't sorrow, wasn't humor, nor satisfaction. It just...  _was_ , and somehow, whatever expression it was that settled on her face - it broke him wide open - but in a way that made him feel whole instead of the shattered pieces he realized he'd been trying to hold together for too long.

This woman, with her colorful hair, attire and personality, was cracking through his walls, letting the light in.

**0-xxx-000-xxx-0**

Neither of them acknowledged that cataclysmic shift, nor the subsequent steps he made in rescinding the reigns over the control and regiment he held on his existence.

They slugged through case prep and he hammered her with questions over the evidence and procedures - being lead DCI meant she'd have to testify and he needed to ensure she was prepped and that nothing was left untied, as he wouldn't allow these bastards to escape justice - and they ordered in and ate food from all over the continent.

They kept things on-the-level, until they finished their case preparations. Though weeks of casual brushing of hands, protracted gazes, extended conversations that delved past surface niceties had taken their toll and sprouted roots.

As they were finishing up their last file, he studied her. She looked almost identical to the first day he'd seen her. Nothing had changed on her end.

But  _everything_  had changed on his. And he was suddenly terrified his life would return to the tepid neutrals of before.

"Tonks, would you..." He coughed. He was woefully out of practice at this. She looked up at her name, and, apparently seeing something different written across his face, stilled her movements and focused her full attention on him.

"Tonks, would you do me the pleasure of allowing me to take you to dinner? Say... tomorrow night?"

Tomorrow night - their first night not working together.

Their first night as two humans, meeting for dinner, without a reason other than a desire for each other's company.

"I would be delighted Barty," he still flinched when she called him that, though it was now more from distant memories, than from his initially appalled reaction to the apparent lack of respect.

"And tomorrow night," she said cheekily, watching his cheeks tinge pink at her tone, "you sir, may find yourself enjoying more than just dinner..."

He choked on his coffee, an undignified sound coming from his mouth and eliciting a wide smile and tinkling laugh from the beautiful witch across from him.

Life wasn't perfect. He knew that first hand.

There would be obstacles.

He felt much too old for her, and he still needed control, order, rules and was extremely particular.

But he was selfish enough to hold onto this wonderful new start with both hands and run with it. Life was too short, and he didn't want to run again now that he found her.

She was, and forever would be,  _herself_. Unapologetically, and he grew to love her for it.

Life wasn't perfect, but they somehow worked - somehow  _fit_  - like jagged pieces of a puzzle. She'd brought color and light back into his grey world.

And what he brought, well, she learned how beneficial being diligent and thorough... could be. How pleasurable.

He was smug in his ability to bring her to the  _stars_.


End file.
